No Surrender

Emily craves erotic submission… Harrison will accept nothing less…

After a lifetime of keeping her secret dreams hidden, Emily’s longing for erotic submission is ignited at a BDSM photography exhibit. Harrison, watching her reaction, offers her the chance to explore that passion at a BDSM training academy. Now she just has to find the courage to submit…

No Surrender is a prequel to the BDSM Club Series. Where erotic submission is not only accepted, but demanded.
Excerpt from book

The woman in the photo was naked, save for the knotted rope wound in intricate patterns over her body. The rope circled tightly around her breasts, ran down her slender torso, and pulled hard against her bare, shaven sex in a way that had to be painful.

Beneath a cap of dark, cropped hair, the woman had almond-shaped eyes, her lips curved in an enigmatic smile. She stared into the camera with a bold, almost arrogant expression, as if to say, “Yes, this is what I want. This is what I need.”

Something resonated deep inside Emily as she stared into the woman’s eyes. It wasn’t the image of a victim, of someone suffering, but of someone proud, even defiant. The young woman in the photo was balanced on a block of wood no bigger than a shoebox. Her arms were extended over her head, secured at the wrists by more rope that hung from a wide beam. The nipples on her small, raised breasts were erect and her body looked as if it had been sprayed with droplets of water.

Emily tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Sweat pricked at her armpits and her sex felt swollen and hot between her legs. She wanted to look away, but the image held her there, rooted to the spot as the rest of the gallery receded, fading into silence and stillness. She had the peculiar sensation of being pulled forward, literally drawn into the picture, into the bound, suspended body of the woman before her. She could feel the cut of the rope beneath her breasts, the twist of it between her legs. She felt dizzy, aching, as she leaned closer.

“You feel her power, don’t you? The strength of what she willingly surrenders.”

Emily startled at the deep voice and whipped her head toward the man who had spoken. Tall and well-built, somewhere in his early forties, he had warm brown eyes, a prominent nose and a nice smile. His dark brown hair curled a bit at the edges, perhaps in need of a cut.

He was watching her with an intent gaze, waiting for her to answer his rather personal question.

“Yes,” she replied, “I do feel it.” She was instantly shocked at her candor. He continued to gaze at her, and she had the disconcerting feeling he could see past the skin and bones of her face, directly into her most secret thoughts. She felt herself coloring, but couldn’t look away.

To her relief, the man turned again to face the photo.” That was Stanwick’s lover, apparently. She’s the subject of a lot of his photographs. This is one of his more famous compositions. It was included in a study of nudes back in the sixties and caused quite a scandal in the art world, as you might imagine.”

The small gallery had grown crowded since Emily had arrived. People were standing in small clusters in front of the photographs, holding plastic champagne flutes as they stared at the provocative images hung on the walls. Released from whatever spell the man and the photo had cast over her, Emily replied in a steady voice, “You seem to know a lot about the artist and his subject matter. Is your interest academic or personal?”

Oh god, had she really just asked that?

“Both,” he replied evenly, again staring into her eyes. Emily felt the warmth return, blood rushing to her cheeks.